


Shadows

by Vera_dAuriac



Category: The First Law - Joe Abercrombie
Genre: F/M, Nostalgia, Post-Canon, Reunion Sex, mentions of squelching, several other characters in passing, spoilers for A Little Hatred, spoilers for Best Served Cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21595594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: It's been a very long time, but when the all the world meets in Adua to discuss the Gurkish, Shivers and Monza meet again.
Relationships: Monza Murcatto/Caul Shivers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> These two ate my brain when I first read them years ago, and it's only gotten worse. So, I've tried to write a reunion for them that's in character but not as miserable and uncomfortable as Joe would make it, so I'm not sure how the tone will strike the rest of the fandom, but I think it turned out OK.
> 
> Oh, this is post-canon as of the publication of A Little Hatred. I'm sure it will become canon divergence as soon as the next book is published. I thought the Gurkish becoming a problem made sense, but watch Joe blow that up.
> 
> I don't own these folks, which is obvious, because I'm way nicer to them than the person who does own them.

**By Vera d'Auriac**

Monza liked nothing about this meeting. It was at night, outside, and with a number of people who wanted her dead. Granted, she’d done more than her fair share to justify their desire to put a knife in her back, but none of them could be called innocent. Then again, who in this world could be called innocent? Certainly no one she had ever met. For now the word they were calling each other was “allies,” but she trusted in that about as much as she trusted in the general goodness of mankind.

But when she was honest with herself, a trick she was trying out more these days to see how it suited her (it didn’t), she knew what she really didn’t like was that for the first time since Shenkt had stood beside her in Orso’s study when she killed the duke and took his crown, she was going to be outmatched. Shenkt, well, she didn’t much like to think too hard about what exactly Shenkt was, but his old master, Bayaz, would be at the meeting tonight. And if it came to fighting, while those two were off doing whatever it was they did, she would be left to manage a room full of killers all on her own.

Some of her enemies wouldn’t be too much of a struggle—the new king of the Union, the latest Orso in her life, was still a boy playing at being a man, and she could outthink him while she slept. Then there was the famous cripple she had been warned so much about. While he might be able to outthink her, he was still a cripple, and she knew where to stick the knife. But she couldn’t forget the young men, who might have shit between their ears, but had been in enough fights to also know where to stick the knife. Leo dan Brock had charged into more than one battle and managed to come out of them all alive, which may have just been dumb luck, but she hadn’t lived as long as she had by trusting to luck, dumb or otherwise. And on principle she was annoyed that she had to worry about a man with a name as ridiculous as Stour Nightfall, but she knew better than most that Northmen’s names could be deceiving.

Oh, and the Northmen, who weren’t actually Northmen, but allied with the Union, had some sort of witch.

No, she didn’t like anything about this meeting in the least.

Still, it couldn’t be avoided, and her smiling host, King Orso, was blathering away as he escorted her into the courtyard where Shenkt and the rest of the party would be waiting for them.

She stepped through the slender columns of the portico and out onto the flagstones surrounding a gaudy fountain with a statue of some famous man of Midderland, who she had no doubt had been a pompous ass, only to find Shenkt glaring in a manner that typically portended someone’s death. She didn’t know what she had expected, although when she thought about it, Shenkt scowling as though ready to kill didn’t surprise her, in spite of his typically calm demeanor. Honestly, a part of her had very much expected to find Shenkt, Bayaz, or both in a pile of goo oozing into the shrubberies. She knew something about revenge, and those two had several lifetimes worth of hate and grievances stored up for each other. But the First of the Magi had been described to her, and if she wasn’t completely wrong, he was sitting on the edge of the fountain grinning, while Shenkt’s attention was very much drawn to a dark corner of the courtyard behind her.

“I hope nothing is wrong,” Orso chuckled in a pathetic attempt to lighten the mood.

“I object to his being here,” said Shenkt.

Monza turned, but could not make out the tall figure in the shadows that had Shenkt's attention. Could not make it out, that is, until he said, “Hello Monza.”

Her breath caught, and she barely managed to speak his name in a whisper. “Shivers.”

He stepped slowly into the light, and it may have been damned near three decades, but she had no trouble recognizing him. The hair had a lot of gray, and he was wearing it too long again like he had when they had first met. And his face had a few more scars, although nothing to match where his eye ought to have been. But he still stood tall, with even fewer fucks to give than before.

“How long has it been? Twenty-five, twenty-six years?” he asked.

“Thirty,” she said, and if he’d given her a minute, she could have worked it out to the day and hour.

He came out of his shadow a bit farther, his stride slow, as if he had nowhere to be, or if he had, he was perfectly willing to let whoever he was meeting wait. “So, you finally made it to Adua.”

She chuckled, glad in her own way that he had remembered, but unused to having anyone who remembered the dreams she had held back before she was the Duchess of Talins and just its Snake. She wondered what else he might remember.

“Have you had the chance to stand in the shadow of the House of the Maker? Was it everything you hoped it would be?”

At that, she laughed outright. “The air is so dirty I don’t think sunlight can get through to cast a shadow.”

“Nothing ever lives up to expectations.”

No one had an answer to that, least of all her. But it seemed Orso wasn’t one to let an awkward silence stand when he could find a way to make it more awkward. “So, you two are old friends,” Orso said cheerily. “Isn’t that just stupendous. Tell us how you met while I see to having wine poured.”

“We met in an alley in Talins when a couple of guys who thought they were tough were trying to steal my boots,” Shivers answered.

  
And Monza was right back there in that alley, wondering whether it would be worth it to try and save the freezing half-starved Northman or just leave him to his fate and find someone better to help her get her revenge. Hard to believe that particular choice had changed everything. Almost as hard as believing she was looking at the same man now. Then again, no one would really consider the Caul Shivers she had found in that alley the same man as now, but that hadn’t taken thirty years, just a few months and some time in a Visserine dungeon.

“Caul Shivers, biggest name in the North, needed rescued by a woman,” a man in black that she assumed was Stour Nightfall laughed. “Now there’s a story to tell around the fire.”

“It is,” Monza said. “For instance, I would have let the thugs kill you and sell you as fish bait. If the fish would have you.”

The young idiot made a move for the knife at his belt, but Shenkt had it out of the sheath and in his own hand before anyone else in the courtyard could blink.

“I think we can all agree that tonight should be a friendly gathering of allies,” Bayaz intoned like he was the lord here and not Orso. Then again, according to Shenkt, he was. “Stour, I’m sure you would like to apologize to the lady for being threatening, just as the duchess would like to apologize for insulting the young lord.”

“I would?” Monza and Stour said in unison.

Everyone began to laugh, no one louder than Shivers. But while everyone else came forward to accept wine, Shivers slipped back into his shadow. Monza watched him from the corner of eye, somehow still disbelieving he was there, still so much the same, while she was utterly different. Wasn’t she?

***

Seeing Monza again was a kick in the fruits, no doubt about that. Sure, he had known she would be there, and drawings of the Grand Duchess Monzcarro Murcatto of Talins had made their way to the Union long ago. That didn’t make seeing her any less shocking. She looked better than the drawings for one thing. He thought she must be doing something to help keep her hair so dark, but it was more than just that. She had walked into the courtyard like she belonged there and everyone else was just visiting. Her voice sounded good, too. Must have given up husk somewhere along the way.

Not that any of this made any fucking difference to his life. He was there to keep an eye on Rikke, “Emphasis on the _one_ ,” as she liked to say, damned girl, only person alive with the nerve to tease him. He sighed and gripped the mantle over the cold fireplace in the ridiculously big room he had here in the Agriont next to Rikke. It had been a hell of a night, and there was no denying that. And it wasn’t over, not by a longshot. He wasn’t really sure how he felt about that. Not even when he cold blade pressed under his chin and forced his head back, exposing his neck nicely for a killing thrust for someone who knew how to use a blade, and he had no doubt she had only gotten better with her left hand over the years.

“Didn’t think it would be so easy to sneak up on you,” Monza whispered, pressed up behind him. “Going deaf in your old age?”

“If you really think I didn’t know you were there, then you’re the one getting old and senile.”

She snorted, but she also left the knife at his throat.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” she said.

“Really? Because I was reasonably certain I would see you. Not surprised in the least.”

“You could have let me know.”

“But where would the fun have been in that?”

He hadn’t bothered to light any candles or lamps in the room when he’d returned, the lights from everywhere else in Adua and the weak moonlight coming through the window enough. Just then, Monza stiffened when the moon came out from behind a cloud and provided a little extra light that shined off the big ruby on his left hand. Monza stiffened behind him and she took the blade away from his throat. She tapped the point against the ring.

“You still have it.”

He shrugged now that such a movement wasn’t like to end with a knife in his neck. “Couldn’t see any reason to get rid of it.”

“Could have gotten a lot of money for it.”

Shivers snorted. “And what would I spend money on?”

“I don’t know. A haircut for a start.”

“Why are you here, Monza?”

“The Gurkish are a problem, haven’t you heard?”

He sighed, remembering how difficult she could be just for the sport of it when she wanted. Was a time he had liked that about her. Was a time he had two eyes and no gray in his stubble, too. He didn’t know though. Maybe part of him still liked it, still liked the way she challenged just because she could. He did know for certain, though, that he was far too tired and old to deal with her fucking with him, if that was her plan. “Last time I saw you, you said you never wanted to see me again, and now you’re in my room. So, I’ll ask you again—why are you here?”

She gently dragged the tip of her knife up his arm, just brushing the hair but in no danger of cutting the flesh if she remained careful and he stayed still. But she kept going up until he could feel the cold close to his cheek, and then the tip tapped on the metal ball of his ruined eye. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I got the distinct impression thirty years ago you couldn’t stand to look at my face, and I sure haven’t gotten prettier in the meantime.”

“I won’t argue with that. But what made it hard to look at you had nothing to do with thinking you were ugly.”

It would have been impossible for Shivers not to spend too much time over thirty years thinking about what had happened to him in Visserine and afterwards between him and Monza. He’d long ago given up ever having the chance to tell Monza how he felt now, just like he’d given up on most things in life. But he had a chance now to put things right—to be, dare he say it, a better man—and he shouldn’t pass it up. Might not get another one.

“I said things then I shouldn’t have,” he began.

Monza dropped the knife on the mantle. Her empty hand curled around his with the ring, still clutching the edge of the mantle as if it were a branch of a tree over a yawning gulf he couldn’t let go of for fear of falling in. “We both did. I was fucking awful to you.”

“It wasn’t your fault. My eye. It shouldn’t have been you. I’ve never spoken words I wished harder I could take back.”

“You weren’t wrong then. Why do you think I hated looking at you?” She leaned full against him, her right arm snaking around his waist. After taking several deep breaths, hesitating, she added, “I did that to you as sure as if I’d held the brand there myself.”

“We knew what could happen when we set off on your hunt for revenge. When you choose a life of violence, you can’t be surprised when the pain gets turned around on you. We chose it. I burned my eye out as much as the duke’s torturers did.” He paused, exhausted from letting all that tumble out at once. “I wanted you to know that.”

“Caul.”

He let his fingers lace together with hers on the mantle. After a squeeze, he turned around to face her. He’d been such a dumb boy when he’d met her, didn’t appreciate her or that their months together before it all went to hell in Visserine would be the best of his life. A lot had happened between them, and none of it could ever be forgotten, but he knew they had both lived enough to know that just because you can’t forget a thing, that doesn’t mean it’s worth holding against someone. And now he stood here, in this overdone, nightmare of a room in the Union, staring at the one woman who had ever meant more than a pile of shit to him. The way she was looking at him, well, he felt like he might be worth more than a pile of shit himself.

His arm wrapped around her lower back, and he pulled her toward him. She didn’t resist. And then their mouths crashed together, and awkward meeting of overeager tongues and teeth. She tasted like Orso’s wine and smelled like the horrible soap that seemed popular with all the rich folks of Adua. He couldn’t care less, though. He’d fallen asleep more nights than he liked to admit thinking about her and what he hadn’t appreciated thirty years ago. To have the real thing here, well, he’d lived long enough to know you don’t fuck a thing like this up.

“You stupid bastard,” she panted against his mouth. “You stupid, stupid bastard.” She didn’t explain further, just kissed him so hard his face ached while she started pulling at his clothes.

Undressing was a fumbling mess. Monza still had a sword belt around the fancy dress she’d worn to meet everyone, and he did fine with the belt, but he didn’t have a whole lot of experience of what to do with the laces holding her together in the back. Finally he just growled and snatched up the blade she’d dropped on the mantle and spun her around so he could cut her loose.

Once her finery puddled on the floor, both of them were more than capable getting off pants and boots. Soon Monza stood naked, the hazy light coming through the window illuminating her enough that if you knew where to look—and he did—you could make out her scars. He remembered how she had looked that night in the house in Visserine before they’d been taken—him tracing her scars as they stood in the window, the two of them bickering like they had all the time in the world to argue and screw, before he dumped her on the bed. She still looked good to his eye—things heading a little more south than they had before, but who couldn’t say the same. And he’d never minded the scars, so she pretty much still looked good to him. Really, really good.

“Fighting suits you,” she said, scratching her nails across his chest and over scars, old and new since she’d last seen him. “Most men your age have let themselves go.”

“In the North, men my age who let themselves go end up back in the mud.”

“I’m glad you haven’t done that, then.”

She started walking him back to the bed, and he concentrated on not tripping over his own feet, figuring that would be the sort of way he’d find to ruin this moment. But he made it until the backs of his legs hit the mattress and she shoved him over backwards. He scooted farther onto the bed and she knelt on either side if his legs and crawled up his body. When she laid her body the length of his, her skin touching his, and kissed him again, he pressed her so hard to him it had to hurt, but he didn’t care. He was pretty sure she didn’t, either. At any rate, she didn’t complain, and that had never been a problem for her before.

They found their old rhythm quick enough, but they couldn’t ignore the changes the decades had made to their bodies. His every joint hurt if he stayed in the same position for more than a minute or two, and the old squelch that had marked their fucking in Styria had to be replaced by a fair amount of spit. But when he eventually climbed between her legs and pushed inside, the moans that escaped them were entirely familiar.

Monza grabbed him by his hair and panted his name between kisses. No one had called him Caul in years, probably not since she had back when he’d been losing his mind to the pain of losing his eye. He pushed her left leg up to get a better angle, and they both shuddered a little at how much it helped. But his body wasn’t designed for fucking a woman into a mattress for an extended period of time anymore, so he flipped them over to give the muscles they’d been using a break.

On a list of things that hadn’t changed, Monza happily climbing on top and taking control was the same as ever. She took a firm grip on his cock and once she got herself lined up, she plunged down and went to work enthusiastically. Sweat marked her forehead and another line trickled between her breasts. He locked his hands on her hips as much for the sake of touching her as to help take some strain off legs he assumed must still bother her. But she always had preferred to take care of as much as possible herself, and she smacked his hands and leaned forward, her hands braced on his shoulders.

Based on the string of oaths coming from her mouth, he assumed the angle suited her. He wondered where he was allowed to touch her that wouldn’t piss her off or get in her way. He slowly moved a hand down her stomach, ready to push it between the two of them, but her angry grunt let him know she still liked being the one to touch her own nut. After that, he tried gently petting her back, but neither of them were getting anything out of that. Next, he tried a nipple, which he couldn’t see would be a problem, but she squirmed, and not in a good way.

“Well, where the fuck would you like me to touch you?” he growled and decided to see how she liked being grabbed hard around the throat.

Turned out, more than a little.

They were both excited now and close. He was determined to let her go first though, and he thought about snow and mud and the squelching sound a knife made when it went into flesh. He thought about anything other than the still beautiful, fierce woman on top of him.

Then her rhythm faltered, and he could feel her clutching around him, all while her fingers sank deeper into his shoulders. He gave her neck another squeeze and now he looked her in the eye. They gasped and shuddered, and somehow in their old age, he at least sadly out of practice, they came together, grunting like a couple of beasts, sweating on each other.

Shivers let her throat go and wrapped his arms around Monza’s back. She’d collapsed on top of him as soon as she finished. All those years ago, she hadn’t been much for affection after the job had been done, unless you counted not bothering to dress because she planned on going again later when he’d had a little time to recover. But she didn’t fight this now, just seemed happy enough to catch her breath.

When she finally did decide she was done with the embracing, she said again, “Bastard.”

“Keep saying that about a man, he might start to believe you don’t particularly like him.”

“You’re a bastard for making me like you too much.” She sighed. “I should get back to my own room before Shenkt comes looking for me and carves out your insides with his bare hands.”

“I’ve got to admit, I’d rather not lose my insides.” He also wanted to admit he wouldn’t mind keeping her in his bed all night, even if the chance of his wanting another round was at best 50/50. But he could already sense that while a lot had been forgiven tonight, they weren’t dumb enough or young enough to believe that…what? She would give up being Grand Duchess of Talins to come live with him in a hut in the North? Or she would take him back to Styria and once more shave his face, cut his hair, and dress him like her brother and fuck him every night?

No, none of that was going to happen, so why bother spending the night. They’d gotten what they needed out of their systems and it was time to get back to real life. They’d both sleep better alone.

She slipped out of his arms, and he watched her shamelessly as she walked over to her pile of clothes, the moonlight casting shadows on her angular frame. She put her shift back on easily enough, but her dress couldn’t be laced again. Clutching it tightly to her chest would keep it on barely, but she would be a sight if someone bumped into her on her way to her room. He got up from the bed and picked up the sword belt.

“Pulling this tight enough around the middle it should keep it up. I’ll loan you a cloak to throw around the rest.” He put the belt on for her and adjusted it so it would help keep the dress in place. She gave him a soft kiss when he finished, which just made them awkwardly look away from each other.

Monza stepped back, and cleared her throat. “Sure you have a cloak to spare?”

Shivers smiled. “Northman always has more than one cloak. And I’ll get it back. Now that you know where to find me.”

Her crooked grin made him smile wider. “I suppose I do.”


End file.
